


The Student Becomes the Teacher

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Helpless," with references to "When She Was Bad," "Passion," "Anne"/"Dead Man's Party." Giles has learned as much from Buffy as she from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Student Becomes the Teacher

She was an extraordinary girl. He’d come to realize that very shortly after meeting her. Her flip attitude and apparent distaste for books had hidden a quick mind. 

How extraordinary, however, only time had revealed. 

Which was why he was crouching beside her now, dabbing at the gash on her forehead with the gentle strokes of not just a Watcher with his Slayer, but of an admirer and penitent. In fact, he wasn’t even her Watcher anymore; first she’d rejected him, then the Council fired him. The latter hadn’t quite penetrated yet, the former… But she wasn’t rejecting his help now, wincing occasionally at the sting of the water but letting him clean the wound the insane vampire Zackary Kralik had given her. In a test Giles himself had deceived and handicapped her for. 

He was wincing too as he worked, but she didn’t move, only trembling slightly still from reaction and emotion. She’d nearly lost her mother that evening as well as her life, all while knowing Giles was partly to blame. Yet there they were. 

Her gaze finally traveled back to him, hesitantly as if afraid of what she’d see. He was worried, too, but her eyes held none of the earlier revulsion or betrayal, merely deep sadness. And his face no doubt mirrored the earnest remorse and concern he felt. She didn’t take her eyes off him as he continued to work, studiously avoiding her stare, but whatever it was she saw in him, she still wasn’t pushing him away. 

Thank God. He needed this almost as much as she. 

She’d been right; he didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that from the start. Or maybe he had, but Council training had overruled his inhibitions. But for the Watcher to poison the Slayer—how could that not be a perfidy that would weaken the trust between them? How could a Slayer ever believe her Watcher after that? Giles had ended the test early and then tried to help her with it, breaking all the rules, but that had hardly been enough to make up for the earlier violation. How could she forgive him for that?

But this…girl who had thrown his poison back at him and then disavowed him only a few hours before was now subjecting herself to his ministrations, studying him as she sat silent and passive. Perhaps she _had_ forgiven him. 

They had been through so much together. He didn’t need to point that out to her, how many times they’d faced the end of the world side-by-side. Well, perhaps he just behind her. She’d come so far, the brash teenager who’d first walked into his library, with still so much to learn, to this sadder but wiser young woman who sat before him now. 

So far…

 

He’d stood from the overhang above and watched, silently aching for her, as she’d sobbed in her Angel’s arms, the crushed bones of the Master scattered about her. It hadn’t taken long upon her return to school in the fall for Giles to realize she needed catharsis from her brush with death at the Master’s hands. He’d hoped her friends would provide it; she’d done her best to push them away but she had a loyal entourage. Or even he would have willingly been there for her, even though he didn’t always know what to say to a 16-year-old girl, even if she was the Slayer. Even more so because she was the Slayer—a teenager’s life was complicated enough without the weight of the world’s fate resting on your shoulders. Of all the Council’s trainings, psychology of young women had not been much covered. 

And yet his pride in her shone deep inside him. For all those pressures, all those unresolved emotions and fears, she had been there when her friends had needed her most, saving their lives yet again and destroying the last remnant of those who would have brought the Master back. Perhaps she’d faltered and almost been too late, but his Slayer was stronger than that. His pride was almost as deep as his empathy for what she had gone through and the tears she was shedding now. 

Young Xander stirred next to him, and Giles recalled himself from his musings. There were the other children still to think of. And, of course, Jenny. They’d also gone through a frightful ordeal at the hands of the Master’s minions and would need…something. Sympathy or, or an explanation at the least. But as Xander looked at him, then Willow, there was understanding replacing the fading fear in their eyes. 

A loyal group, indeed. Beyond the comprehension of the Council and the rules that said a Slayer should fight alone. 

Giles wanly smiled at them and held out a shepherding hand. “You should go home. I’m afraid I don’t have my car here, but Buffy—”

“It’s okay,” Xander said quietly. “We can walk.” 

Cordelia sniffed behind him. “ _You_ can walk. I’ve just been kidnapped and almost sacrificed to bring back some dead vampire guy. I think that deserves at least a ride home after.” 

_“We can walk,”_ Xander repeated to her with emphasis. 

A roll of the eyes. “Oh, fine. And you all wonder why nobody wants to be anywhere near you?”

Willow’s eyes were on Buffy, though, and she only pulled them away to give Giles a timid look. “Will she be okay?”

He smiled at her, reassuring. “I’m sure she’ll be fine now. I believe this is just the, er, outlet she needed.” A mallet and the Master’s bones—how could he not have thought of that, Giles considered wryly. Another glance at his Slayer saw she was finally quieting, and the vampire Angel met his eyes. A moment of unusual understanding passed between the two of them, then Giles began to move more briskly. 

“Right, then. You’ll walk—are you certain you’re up to—”

“I’ll go with them, Rupert. You look after Buffy.” Jenny’s hand on his arm almost distracted him from what she said, but he gave her a grateful look. She was as strong a woman as he could ever have hoped to meet, to have come through such an experience and still be worried about others. He gave her a smile, considered and decided against a kiss, then ushered them to the door. Xander and Willow gave him lingering looks as they went out— _make sure Buffy’s okay_ , they couldn’t have said it more clearly—Jenny’s look saying something altogether, and Cordelia was already complaining again. His smile grew fainter. Some things, mercifully or not, never changed. 

And some things changed forever.

Giles descended the back stairs to the floor below, approaching the couple with caution. The tears had done her good, but he wasn’t certain how she’d react now, when awareness of her surroundings began to penetrate again. Surely there would be shame, no matter how undeserved, and remorse. It would be his job to build her up again, to tell her it was all right when it certainly wasn’t. She’d lost part of her innocence that night, and the night three months before when she’d briefly…died. He was determined she would keep what she had left for as long as possible. 

Angel was watching him come, aware of any threat, any approach. In a way, he was the ideal match for Buffy, nearly her equal in skill and instinct, even more so in knowledge. But his heart would never beat for her, his skin never flush warm, his body age with hers. Ultimately, she would need to turn to the living to heal.

As if Angel had read his thoughts, he slowly drew back from her, leaving Buffy standing forlorn and small by herself, hiccupping with the end of release. Her face was downcast, unreadable to Giles, and she made no move to follow Angel. 

“I’ll be there when you need me,” were his quiet words to her, receiving only the smallest of acknowledging nods. Angel looked up at Giles, his stare as penetrating as ever. “You’ll take her home?” 

He inclined his head, knowing it was a solemn charge. 

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then Angel was gone. 

Giles moved forward slowly, his touch gentle as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Buffy’s gaze swept up almost unintentionally, then immediately returned to the floor, but she didn’t refuse his presence. Shame, then, as he’d suspected. Giles softened, looking for the right words. 

“Guess I showed him.” 

Watery words, trying to be cocky. Giles shut his eyes a moment. She was stronger than even he knew. “At least we can be certain he’ll no longer be a threat,” he offered.

“I really kinda wigged there, huh?” Her glance up at him lingered a little longer this time, shy, worried. Of what he thought of her? 

“You were entitled,” Giles answered warmly. “I’d say you handled yourself remarkably well, considering.”

“Considering I wasn’t completely not insane?” But a smile had touched her mouth. 

“Considering how difficult things were for you.”

She didn’t answer that, only biting her lip, and Giles thought for a horrible moment she would cry again, but she pulled herself together once more. Her eyes were back on the floor, though. “Can we go home?” she asked in a whisper.

“Of course.” He slid his hand from her shoulder to around her back, guiding her out of the room, past the bones, which he shielded from her sight as best he could. She didn’t even try to look at them, following willingly. 

The walk home was silent, Buffy’s arms wrapped around her torso as if she were comforting herself, Giles’ never leaving her as if by touch alone he could convey to her she had nothing to be ashamed of now, nothing to regret, that everything would be all right. He doubted she’d believe him if he told her, but actions spoke more clearly than any words. 

Except maybe a few. They’d stopped in front of her house, Buffy facing him but still not easily meeting his eyes. 

“If you’d rather not come to school tomorrow, I’m sure I could find some excuse for your mother.” 

That slight smile again, perhaps a little more strong. “No. I’ll be there. If I can handle the Master, I think I can handle Science class.” 

It wasn’t class either of them were thinking of, but he let it pass. Giles had no qualms her friends would surprise her. He merely squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve no doubt you can handle anything you must. Just remember, you aren’t alone.” 

Her smile saddened. It looked so old. “I was that night.” 

He knew exactly what night she was talking about. “Not for long. And you’re not now.” 

Her chin came up, swollen eyes and nose lifting as she studied him. She was lovely even so, and for a moment, he saw the Slayer blood in her, the strength in her eyes even when she’d been knocked down, the survival instinct, the power. And then she was a sixteen-year-old girl again, simply trying to understand life. He smiled gently at her and she smiled back, for real this time. 

“Come by the library tomorrow.” 

Buffy nodded. He’d hardly needed to say it, but he wanted to impress on her that nothing had changed, at least not in his eyes. As she turned and walked up the front walk, he amended that. Something had changed—his Slayer had faced her first big test, far greater than Lothos had been, tasting death itself. But she’d survived and come out stronger. He’d seen it in that last smile. 

Giles tucked his hands in his pockets and walked home alone. 

 

The next time, she’d been the one to take him home.

She’d just saved him from death by fire, death by Angelus. And then, just as his grief turned to anger against her for interfering, her fear for him turned into a furious slap that drove him to his knees. This time, they’d cried together, holding on to each other in the alley next to the burning building until the fire engines had come and they’d stumbled off to avoid the eyes and questions of unknowing others. 

Buffy drove his car. Neither of them realized or cared she had no license and little experience. They were simply _doing_ that evening. Or not even that, as Giles sat in numb silence in the passenger seat. He’d already sobbed himself out for Jenny. She was gone, murdered by Angelus; the mourning was for himself alone. Buffy, however, too quiet next to him, still needed him. He had nothing left to give, husked out and lost, but he was still her Watcher. 

“Buffy—” He reached for her, withdrawing, stung, as she jerked away to keep him from touching her, the Citroen lurching with her until she straightened it. Was she still that angry? Giles found he could manage somehow to feel more hurt than he already was. 

“You’ve gotta hate me now,” she finally whispered, eyes on the windshield. The car had sped up with her words, as if she could outrun his derision. 

Except he felt none, only puzzlement. “Hate? No, I—for saving my life?”

“For Angel. If we hadn’t…he wouldn’t have…” Her eyes were filling again. “I know what it’s like…to lose someone you…” 

Love. And she did, Giles had no doubt of that. It was just cruel fate her loss had led to his. Tears pricked his eyes again. “There was no way you could have known,” he repeated softly, as he had in that car so recently and so long ago, when she’d first realized what she’d done and asked him the same thing. How could she think he…his rage burned at Angelus, passionately, but hate _her_? When her heart was as broken as his? And still she’d led when he faltered, saving him when he’d temporarily lost his sanity. 

They drove in silence, two wounded souls. His loss was fresher, his hate for Angelus deeper, no love to temper it. But she was also grieving, frightened, blaming herself. It was why she’d hit him in the alley, so scared of his leaving her alone. 

And he couldn’t, not even for Jenny or his own pain. 

Giles reached out a shaking hand. She didn’t push him away this time. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. For her loss, for her nearly losing him. 

The blonde head had dropped, then nodded once. Still not turning toward him, she’d driven on. 

There would be no more crying on another’s shoulder this time. The one who had held her the last was her enemy now, and her mentor a fallen idol who was still trying to help himself, let alone her. But her head came up again as he watched, her back straightening. She no longer looked so alone, her strength coming through again, and Giles couldn’t help but admire it. She was already going on, simply because she had to. She’d learned the lesson when he had not. 

She’d ended up taking him to her house this time, guiding him over his protests to the guest room, knowing his home would be full of too-fresh painful memories. Instinctually, she’d seen to his needs, finding him a change of clothes, a fresh towel, toiletries. And then she’d hugged him before she left him for the night, but Giles knew already it was more for his sake than for hers. 

That night he’d thought how ironic it was that she take that final step of maturity, not in her own death, but in the loss of loved ones. He’d thought she’d faced the ultimate challenge. 

If only…

How very naïve he, too, had been. 

 

He wasn’t asleep when the doorbell rang, even if it was past midnight. Giles hadn’t known she’d come, and yet he knew before he opened the door she’d be the one waiting. 

Buffy raised her head as the door swung open, their eyes meeting just as they had the day before when she’d first come back from three long months of silent absence. He’d been so overcome with relief then, and joy. His Slayer was back, after he’d started to wonder if he’d lost her for good. 

And then that damnable circus they called a party took place at her house, and Joyce’s infernal mask started raising the dead, and what little he’d seen of Buffy throughout the crisis had made Giles silently wonder if she wasn’t having second thoughts about returning. Whatever had happened in the ritual of Acathla to drive her away, it still lingered in her eyes. Even as she stood on his doorstep. Saying her farewells this time, perhaps? 

It still hurt. Not that she’d left him without a job for the summer, a Watcher without a Slayer, but that she hadn’t trusted him enough to talk to him before she left, to even say good-bye. Giles smiled at her, but it still ached inside and he dreaded the reason for her visit now. 

“Can I come in?” she finally asked, and, startled, he swung the door open wider.

“Oh. Of course. Come in. I was just…” He swept a helpless hand over the living room. All there was to see was a pile of journals and a half-empty bottle of Scotch. Embarrassed, he continued the motion up to the back of his neck, as if his intention all along had been to scratch it. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Buffy said with mock seriousness. Then she was herself again, momentarily uncertain. “I’m not interrupting—”

“No. No, absolutely not.”

They sat down, across from each other, and fell silent. 

“Is the party over?” he finally ventured.

Her mouth twisted. “I think the party was mostly over when the zombies started crashing it. And Mom’s new friend turning into a zombie queen was a real dampener, too.”

“I’m-I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Buffy sighed, sitting back in his chair. She’d made no move to take off her jacket. “It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when Willow was going on about the welcome back party.” 

“Ah. Neither a ‘shindig’ or a ‘hootenanny’,” Giles said knowingly. 

She gave him a puzzled look. “I think you’ve been hanging around us too much.” The wry tone disappeared. “I just thought it would be, you know, just _us_ , give us a chance to…”

“Reconnect?” he offered.

“Yeah,” Buffy said shyly. “I’ve missed…” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to. 

Giles leaned forward. “You haven’t said where you were for the last three months.” 

She smiled, mostly without humor. “You noticed that, huh? It’s a long story. You know, lived somebody else’s life, freed a bunch of slaves, fought some uglies. Same old, same old.” 

Giles’ eyebrows lifted. It didn’t actually surprise him she’d continued to be the Slayer wherever she was, but he wasn’t certain if he felt pride or hurt at that fact. He knew she was capable of doing the job alone if necessary, and clearly the instincts to help had been even stronger than the pain she’d been running from. That was…admirable, certainly his Buffy. But his pride still twinged that she’d fought those battles on her own.

“I almost called you,” Buffy suddenly spoke up, then just as quickly subsided back into the chair. “When I realized what was going on. But I…” She slumped miserably, blinking hard. 

And Giles abruptly realized her forced solitude had not been because she hadn’t wanted or needed those who loved her. She simply hadn’t known how to ask. But her craving was as stunningly obvious now as when she’d shown up at his door the day before, her friends crowded around her as she’d nevertheless stood there alone. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d been at a loss, but when he was with her, it was one his many jobs as her Watcher to look after her, make sure she had the help she needed even if she didn’t ask. This time, she’d been alone, lonely and in pain, if the hollowness and added years in her eyes were any sign. 

Yet still she’d come back. Ready to face what had driven her away, to ask for and accept the help of those who loved her. To choose the life of a Slayer. 

If that wasn’t an act of courage, Giles didn’t know what was. 

“Will you tell me, perhaps, someday?” he finally asked, but now it was in order to help her, not to assuage his own curiosity. The intriguing mention of “uglies” and “freed slaves” aside, he knew all he needed to.

She nodded, still clearly weighed down. “Yeah, I will. Someday.” 

Giles hesitated, three months of wanting to be of help and the inability to do so a powerful drive. “Buffy…I don’t know what happened before you left, and I won’t ask. If you want to tell me, you know I’m here. But we missed you…considerably while you were gone. And not just because of the resident vampire population.” He mustered a brief grin. “I don’t believe I have to tell you there are many here who care about you a great deal, and—” 

She leapt to her feet, a sudden reversal of her withdrawal up to then. “I know that! I know I let you guys down, and I’m _sorry_. How many times do I have to say that?” 

He didn’t alter his expression, merely gazed up at her, kindly. “To me, none. To your mother, I suppose it will take more than that, but to me—Buffy, you don’t owe me anything. This is not about you failing your duties or your friends. It’s about taking care of yourself. Sharing your sorrow, letting others help—if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that a Slayer cannot exist alone. Or, rather,” he quickly amended, “she can if she must—she is strong enough for that--but it is far easier and less forlorn if she does not.” 

Buffy stared at him, bright-eyed and defensive, for a long minute before dropping like a stone onto the edge of the chair. She dragged the back of her hand over her eyes, and Giles silently reached to the other end of the sofa for a box of tissues, which he offered her. She took one, then merely held it crumpled in her hand. “I don’t feel very strong,” she finally whispered.

“Buffy, you came back. That took a great deal more fortitude than I’m certain I would have had. Your mother and friends may not see it that way at first, but they do know you came back willingly, on your own. It will get better, I assure you.” He put a hand on the two she held clasped in her lap. They were cold.

She finally looked up, wanly smiling. “Promise?”

He softened into a smile of his own. “I promise.” 

It would have to do for now. She looked utterly wrung out, physically and emotionally, and he was abruptly reminded again of just how young she was. Young and too old.

Giles stood, briskly gathering things from around the room and the linen closet, then standing before her as she gave him a bewildered look.

“You’re much too tired to go anywhere else tonight. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

“Mom—”

“I’ll call your mother. I suppose she has other things to concern herself with tonight.” Like a dead next-door neighbor, a house that had been invaded by zombies, and the remnants of a wild party that had harmed more than it had helped. For a peevish moment, he was glad Joyce had learned a lesson about the dangers of carelessness with artifacts, then ashamedly withdrew the thought. She’d suffered even more than he those last few months, worrying about her only child. Her natural clinging upon Buffy’s return, however, was not what the girl needed just then. Which was probably why she’d shown up at his home and why for the first time he’d encouraged her to spend the night. She was still off-balance, reeling from leaving, reeling from returning. But she _had_ returned, and it was his job to make her feel she’d made the right choice. 

She submitted willingly to his insistence on her staying, even helping him make up the sofa, and Giles was reminded of when she’d settled him in the same way, after he’d lost Jenny. Except then he’d been running away, while she had just come home again. 

He left her already half asleep, giving her one last glance before he snapped the living room light off, grateful down to his soul she’d given him the chance to do so.

 

The wound was finally cleaned and disinfected as much as Giles was able to do. Stitches perhaps wouldn’t have hurt, but Slayers healed well. The injury would probably be gone within the week. At least, the physical part. He chewed his lip as he taped a bandage over the treated gash. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked gently, and unable to avoid it any longer, finally met her eyes. 

They were just spilling over. He’d seen her hide the tears defiantly from Quentin Travers, the head of the Council, but she didn’t seem embarrassed by his seeing them. 

Giles hung his head. “Buffy, I am so sorry. I never meant—”

“I know.” She didn’t sound angry, either, just hurting. He preferred the anger.

He wiped away the tears with a dry corner of the rag, then those that replaced them. Damn Quentin Travers and his games, anyway. Didn’t they know Slayers were flesh-and-blood, with feelings and the very human need of being able to trust someone?

“I’m sorry you were fired,” she said quietly. 

“I’m not.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but he knew now the price was too great to pay. “We’ll manage somehow.” He hesitated. “That is, if you still want me to…”

Her eyes filled again, but not just with grief. God love her, she was actually smiling at him. “Who else would put up with all of our weirdness?”

She was forgiving him. Even though he’d added to her sorrow, she was absolving him, willing to offer her trust again. Giles’ own eyes felt a little damp as he reached out, cupping her cheek with one hand. Quentin had been right in one thing: he did indeed have a father’s love for the child. A remarkable child who was turning into a remarkable adult, already more wise than he in some ways. It was true what they said, that the student eventually became the teacher. 

Giles helped her into her coat, then put an arm around her as he led her toward the door. “Let me take you home,” he offered. Buffy leaned into him in response, drawing comfort from him as he from her as they went out to the car, able to accept now as she gave. 

And this middle-aged student, not for the first time in his life, felt very, very humble.

The End


End file.
